Spontaneity

Last night I was roused from my bed at 1:30 AM.

"I'm cold and wet, Mommy!" Rachel called. 

And indeed she was. So I helped her get out of her wet pyjamas and into dry ones. We put a towel down on her wet spot. We took a trip to the bathroom. It was kind of a big to-do and we woke Miriam up. The surprised look on her face read, "Oh, you're here?! Awesome. Pick me up," and when I didn't she started to cry so then I did and we ended up nursing and rocking until nearly 3:00 AM.

So instead of doing the things I had planned to get done today I spent the day washing sheets. I figured I may as well do all the bed linens since it had been a while, anyway. While we were out and about i mentioned to Andrew, "Well, at least she didn't wet the bed the day after I washed the sheets. It seems to me that the last few times she's wet the bed it's been the day after I've washed the sheets."

It's not like she even wets the bed that often...it just happens to be soon after the sheets get washed.

This morning I was roused from my bed at 2:00 AM. I heard Rachel coughing--she's got this silly little cold--and heaving--because that's what she does when she coughs too much. Or at all.

At first I wasn't going to get up because I didn't hear anything after that--just coughing, heaving, silence. Perhaps, I thought, it had really only been dry heaves. But then I heard her stirring around so I got out of bed to investigate. The poor little dear was trying to mop up her throw-up with a tissue. It was an impossible task--she had drenched everything. Her pillow was dripping vomit and she had vomit in her hair. But that is not all, oh, no, that is not all. She somehow got it all over the comforter, the flat sheet, the spot she should have been laying on, her favourite blanket, her shirt, and her pants.

Miriam woke up during my cursory assessment of the situation with that same wide-eyed look of surprised delight, "Oh! You're here again? That's two nights in a row. Score!"

I woke up Daddy. We stripped the bed, stripped the Rachel, and scrounged around for sheets, pillows, blankets, and pyjamas. Then we tried putting the girls back to bed, which meant singing and nursing and the whole bedtime go-round.

Just as I was about to drift off to sleep, Rachel started retching again.

"Is everything alright?" I called out.

"Mommy, I missed!" Rachel sobbed.

And indeed she had--missed getting all her throw up into the bowl I had given to her "just in case."

I found her a fresh pillow--this incident was, fortunately, more contained--and then hushed up Meme again. And, um, now I'm nursing her in my rocking chair in front of the computer while the pile of tomorrow's laundry is, I'm sure, multiplying in the dark. *sigh* And the day after I washed the sheets, too. *shrug* Figures.

The tragedy is that I'll be spending all day doing laundry tomorrow, again, which means I'll put off cleaning the bathrooms, again. This is why, I told Andrew, FlyLady never works for me. I've tried to keep up with the program twice now but always fail miserably at silly rules like "getting up a half hour before your family." I mean, how exactly do I plan on doing that when my children sometimes get up at 4:00 in the morning ((for good) like they did last Thursday)? And how am I supposed to maintain a "laundry routine" when I have dirty sheets coming out my ears? And why in the world would I bother putting on make-up and getting dressed "to my shoes" when I my head is buzzing from lack of sleep and my husband doesn't come home until bedtime, anyway? And how am I supposed to get anything accomplished at all when my inbox is constantly bouncing around on my dashboard saying, "Look, another fifty emails from FlyLady reminding you to wash your light switch plates and shine your sink!" No, thank you. I will stick to my to-do lists.

By now I am pretty well accepting myself as a horrible housekeeper. (And I still love me.) My life is too spontaneous for anything otherwise.

No, the real tragedy about all of this is that Rachel totally hogged the tomatoes at dinner--the fresh, ripe, warm, juicy, succulent, garden tomatoes that are now covering her sheets. I almost feel like I'm wasting those precious fruits but at the same time am not tempted in the least to try to salvage them.

Anyway, all I hear now is the sweet sound of silence. My bed awaits.

Tomorrow I'm thinking no preschool.

And lots of temper tantrums.

It should be a good day.

North by backside

Pint does not rhyme with mint. Or splint or flint or hint or anything else that looks like it should. In fact its only near-rhyme is rhynt, according to wikipedia, which is about the approximation of yelling, "Here, sooey, sooey, sooey!" to a pig. Only to cows. And to get them to leave instead of come.

I don't think I'll ever get that straight because I messed up again last night when Andrew and I were (still) discussing it. Truthfully, though, I think that's okay because no one uses pints, anyway. Andrew says it is important that I know how to say it correctly. He thinks he so smart because he has a master's degree, and while I agree that he is pretty smart, there are some things that he just doesn't know.

Last night he eruditely mentioned, "In some translations of Arabic, backside means bottom. Did you know that?"

"Did you know that in English backside means bottom?" I asked Andrew.

"It does?" he asked.

"Yes. As in, 'I'm going to paddle your backside.'"

"Oh. That makes a lot of sense."

"What did you think a backside was?"

"Well, here," he said, pointing to his sides.

"Really?" I asked, "Like a northwest kind of a thing--not quite north, not quite west? Not quite back, but just to the side?"

"Exactly. That makes a lot more sense for corporal punishment. For the longest time I couldn't figure out how people managed to hit each other there. I just figured it was some weird cultural thing..."

"Wow, no. That's definitely an English phrase that means bottom."

One thing I love about Andrew: he's incredibly smart and incredibly naive at the same time. It's a rather comical combination.

Growing Up

Dear Miriam,

You're eleven months old today.

To celebrate I am exchanging your newborn-size diapers for regular-size diapers. It's about time, too, since we can't really, at least not in good conscience, call you a newborn anymore. Also, you soak through your diapers so fast it's getting to be a trite ridiculous. Something tells me your bladder has been growing as fast as the rest of you.

So although it pains me to fold up those itty, bitty diapers for future use (Hello, Scott!), and even though the regular-size diapers seem huge on you, it will be really nice to have a diaper that can actually absorb the amount of fluid you...eliminate.

Happy eleventh mensiversary!

Love,

Mom

PS. I've always loved you but I will love you even more now that you won't be leaking through your diaper every time you pee.

Buttermilk Economics

This morning was my soon-to-be aunt-in-law's bridal shower. Her name is Marie and she is from France, which is funny because I already have an Aunt Marie from France. Anyway, showers aren't common in Europe--showers as in baby showers or bridal showers--parties, I mean, not showers as in a place where one bathes beneath falling water. They have plenty of those in Europe and Marie is quite comfortable with those, I am sure, though she wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of a bridal shower. She was a good sport though, and opened her presents in front of everybody even though she was a little appalled by the idea.

"I will do this," she said, "But you must let me thank you in the French way, with a kiss!"

Sarah, Emily, and I all pooled with Karen to get a gift card for Rod and Marie. After opening our gift she went around to give us all kisses. Sarah got a little flustered when it was her turn and turned her face the same way that Marie was turning and nearly ended up planting her on the lips. It was a near miss and Sarah was thoroughly embarrassed; everyone else thought it was hilarious.

Heber Valley Camping

So, we went camping this weekend.  I think I’ve mentioned that already. Several times. Grandma and Grandpa’s BYU ward was having a ward campout at the Heber Valley Girl’s Camp and we kind of tagged along.

I was unsure of what to pack because the campground is up in the mountains at an elevation of around 8000 feet. We went camping a there few years ago (at Camp Esther) and it snowed—big time—so I packed much more than we actually ended up needing. It was relatively warm this year—I don’t think we even got a frost.

We stayed at Camp Bertha Stone Reeder and had a nice, heated cabin—at least for all the kids and married couples. All the students were in unheated cabins, which is still pretty luxurious for camping. We didn’t feel like we were roughing it at all!

Undecidedly ambidextrous

During story time this evening we also read Fuzzy Yellow Ducklings, a touchy-feely book. To be honest we read that book twice because the girls were having issues taking turns feeling the pages. But I'm not here to talk about grumpy children anymore. I already did that. Instead I'm going to talk about undecidedly ambidextrous ones because Miriam is just too cute with this book.

For the longest time I was positive she was going to be left-handed. She mastered the pincher grasp soon after we moved back to the States, but only with her left hand. Whenever she picked up anything with her right hand it was an awkward full-fisted effort. Her left hand, however, was beautifully coordinated and she could pick up any small bits of food between her thumb and forefinger and make it to her mouth with ease.

Now, though, she can do the pincher grasp with either hand and even seems to be favouring the right hand a little.

I'm not sure if this is because she's simply going to be right-handed or if I've somehow influenced her.

She really enjoys Fuzzy Yellow Ducklings (and Fuzzy, Fuzzy, Fuzzy, another touchy-feely book), see, so we read it a lot. When we first started reading it I would help her to know to feel the pictures by taking her hand and placing it on the different things to feel. Since I'm right handed I naturally grabbed her right hand every time but noticed that she was always fighting me. Then, when she got the hang of how the books worked, her left hand would fly out voluntarily and she'd stroke the page on her own accord.

Tonight when we were reading and I invited her to feel the page she stuck both her hands in front of her with her index fingers pointing out and looked at them for a minute. Then she reached out her left finger and stroked the page. We turned the page and I invited her, again, to feel the picture. She did the same thing--held her hands, pointer fingers poised, in front of her, while she decided. This time she felt the page with her right hand. She randomly alternated between hands for the rest of the story.

My poor, little confused child.

Eventually she'll decide which is her dominant side, I suppose, but until then I'll continue to relish the cute pensive look her face gets every time she needs to use only one hand to do something.

Good night and good riddance!

I'm so glad today is almost over. We just had one of those quintessential family home evening lessons involving tears and a general, overwhelming feeling of miserableness. I don't know how we could have made it any better. I'm exhausted--I had an extra child today, and while it wasn't all that terrible having three children ages three and under I'm certainly glad it's not an everyday reality for me because I'm simply more exhausted now than I would have be if I only had had two children all day, I think. I don't know. I might still be this tired because last night Rachel ended up in bed with us, which means that she slept fine and we hardly slept at all. And Miriam got up in the night, too. It was just one of those nights.

Rachel stormed out of the living room twice during the lesson screaming, "Well, I don't care!"

The lesson itself was quite innocuous--being kind to animals--and the delivery was smooth. The acceptance, however, was not.

"Wow. This is a fun lesson," Andrew said sarcastically.

"No, it's not!" Rachel fumed, "It's not because I'm whining!"

Touché. Knowing is only half the battle though. I guess my expectations for her shouldn't be too high since I can't always control myself when I know I'm the problem. The minute we declared FHE over Rachel stomped and grumbled out of the living room and crashed her way down the hallway.

"You can turn off that attitude, Rachel," Andrew told her, "You're not making anybody happy."

"Well, I am making me happy because I choose to be sad!" she retorted.

We told her that was a stupid choice but that she was free to make that choice in the confines of her room with nobody around to hear her angry tirades. That lasted for about ten minutes. Then she came out of her room and said, "I choose not to go on a walk with you, Mommy. I just want a bath. I don't want a walk."

"Fine," I told her, "But after the bath you are going straight to bed."

She played in a lot longer than she usually does--recently she wants to get out of the tub the minute we turn off the faucet but tonight she played for about fifteen minutes after we shut the water off--but was still out of the tub before 7:00. We immediately got her ready for bed but I was too nervous to actually put her to bed that early (there's still tomorrow and I'm not anxious for tomorrow to start, truthfully, and if we put her to bed too early it's likely tomorrow will start too early, too) so I read three chapters of Charlotte's Web instead of one. That brought us to just about bedtime so Andrew came in and we got Meme ready for bed, read scriptures, said family prayer, sang lullabies and put that grumpy girl to bed!

I don't think I've ever been so happy to kiss her sweet baby cheek goodnight (and good riddance)!

Happy Birthday, Andrew!

Today was Andrew’s birthday. I think he had a good day. I got up with the girls for a change and he got to sleep in—even though I was up with the baby in the night. Rachel helped Grandma decorate the kitchen so that they could surprise Daddy when he got up. According to Rachel “he was so a-pized!” when he came into the kitchen. We also made a cake.

That was my main project this morning. It was my first attempt at fondant and now I’m wondering why I waited this long to try it out. Getting the cake to look smooth was a cinch—I just plopped the fondant on and it was good to go. If only I had used fondant for the wedding cake I made because icing that beast was treacherous.

I made marshmallow fondant because we had so many marshmallows left over from camping this weekend. On one of the recipes I looked at online it said that it tastes like “very sweet marshmallows” instead of vile (like regular fondant).

At first I was like, “Very sweet marshmallows as opposed to…not very sweet marshmallows?”

Words in sentences

Last night Andrew and I were talking and I said, "So, in a sentence I read today..."

His laughter interrupted me.

"Who talks like that?" he scoffed. Then, "Oh. You were talking about work, weren't you?"

I read sentences for a living.

Quick, before they learn something!

This morning we slept in which meant that our whole morning fell behind schedule and we all felt rushed. I put on Andrew's socks while he tied his tie--that's how desperately hurried we were. We had nearly gotten caught up with the day when it was time for Rachel to leave for school. Just past time, actually. I told her we had to hurry or we would be late.

The minute she was out the door she zipped down the driveway and started running down the sidewalk. I closed the door and jogged until I had caught up with her.

"Quick, quick!" she urged me, "Before they learn something!"

She was quite distressed about the idea of not being there while something was being taught.